Le Chemin
by A-Truth
Summary: The Harlequin and The Hellequin's back story.


He was asked if he thought what he did was childish. No, it wasn't childish. Adults sneak sweets all the time. It was more mature, because he gave it to his sister, he explains. Children don't share their dessert. He's told to stop, but he doesn't know what. When he asks, his mother rolls her eyes and says she can't deal with him anymore. He still doesn't understand. Maybe his sister would. But she was talking with their father now, and he was told to keep away and let them finish. Once his mother told him to attend to his chores, he nodded and ran off to eavesdrop. Hiding in small places wasn't as easy anymore, not in a fully grown body. Instead he sat in his room with an ear to the wall.

The walls were strong, the house was built to last. Unfortunately, it also meant the conversation on the other side of the wall was difficult to catch. He keened his ears, hoping to pick up a few words.

Something about their family name. The man's voice was much deeper and louder than his sister's, most of what he heard was from him. Her voice had gone quiet and hesitant, unlike her. Were they arguing? Someone knew about... something. Reputations. She should know better. He heard his name and held his breath. They're quiet for a moment, then she said something too quiet for him to hear. It must have been the wrong thing to say, though, he heard a loud smack and her yelping.

Without even thinking he shouted and threw open his door to get to her. She had buried her face in her hands and didn't look up at him. Roughly shoving their father with his forearm to get to her proved to be a worse idea than he'd thought. The surprise of seeing him enter wore off- the older man grabbed him by his wrist and yanked him away from her. Though he was strong, his father was stronger. Clawing at his hand and flailing failed to loosen his grip. His sister kept her face down, however, and did nothing to help him.

He was dragged away, still shouting to his sister. Despite his resistance, his father was completely unphased, and pulled him out to the hallway with no difficulty. The only thing he could do was turn his yelling toward him. In the moment he forgot what the consequences would be and screamed out everything he had wanted to tell this man for years. The grip on his wrist tightened, but he ignored the pain and continued his struggling. It was too late to stop now, his blood felt hot in his veins and words came from his mouth before they had processed in his brain. The only thing that silenced him was the sudden impact on his face. Stunned, he was thrown back into his room and the door slammed behind him.

He recovered after a second and touched his nose, finding it painfully crooked and bleeding. Ignoring his already bruising wrist, he ran to the door and yanked on it. This door didn't have a lock, why wasn't it opening? He pounded his fist against it and shouted every profanity he knew, but it didn't budge. It must be barricaded on the other side.

For a full hour he shouted and banged on the door. It didn't budge. Eventually his voice was hoarse and the pain in his nose and arm pacified him. He slid down the door and sat on the floor against it. After catching his breath he stood again, checking out his nose in the mirror. It was definitely broken, it was bent horribly to one side, and bled from a gash in the bridge. Pain continued to shoot up his face and trying to correct his nose proved too painful. Instead, he opted to leave it as it was, at least for now, and laid down on his bed. Maybe he would be let out in the morning, though he doubted he could sleep. Right on the other side of that wall was his sister. Was she trapped in her room too? Was she hurt? Was she still there? He felt so helpless.

The next few hours crawled past. Not a sound came from the hallway or his sister's room. Sitting still was out of the question. He tried the door again every few minutes, always getting the same result. Tapping against his sister's shared wall didn't get a comforting return tap from her side.

The next hours were slower than the previous ones. Still, tapping on their shared wall got no reply. His nose hurt. At least the bleeding had stopped, but he couldn't correct it without help.

After an agonizingly long night, he heard the sounds of servants getting up and preparing breakfast for their family. immediately, he was against the door, peeking through the slit waiting for someone to walk by. It took too long. But, finally, one of them came to his door to wake him, as with every morning. The chair wedged under the handle wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Before she knew how to react, he was talking through the door asking her to move it. He remembered his manners, not wanting her to take advantage of him being trapped, he wasn't terribly popular with them. Without hesitation she obeyed. He flung the door open, and kicked the one against his sister's door away.

She looked up at him with red eyes and a white face. Not that she was pale, she had painted her face white and her lips purple. In a second he was holding her, and she returned the hug with shaking arms. When they loosened their hug, her face paint was running around her eyes, revealing a black eye and dark patch on her cheek. There wasn't an option anymore.

"Pack your things."


End file.
